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[Jack appears on the network. It looks as if he isn't aware he's being filmed at first; he glances around him nervously, his eyes darting from place to place.]

So-- right. You guys don't got no newsies, yeah? But I'm grown outta that business anyway, so I figure, I'll do somethin' else anyway.

[And now he focuses on the camera. His eyes are a little sunken in; his cheekbones jut out sharply from his face. The entire effect is unpleasant; he looks like he hasn't slept or eaten in quite some time. Carefully, each movement deliberate, he takes a cigarette out of his pocket; his gaze focuses on that as he speaks.]

I draw pictures. Real good, if I do say so myself. Do paints, too. You want your picture done? You want your wall painted? Maybe you're in theater, you want some sets done, or maybe you want somebody to put a, a, a mural on your wall. If it's somethin' to do with art, I can do it. I don't give a damn what it is. I'll paint you and your stupid girlfriend if you want, 's long as you pay me. Name's Jack Kelly.

[He nods sharply, once, and lights up the cigarette.]

An' in personal business, a couple thin's: this gun's good an' all, but I'm in the knives business, meself. Anybody sellin' any good blades? I don't mean no stores, all right, I ain't lookin' for no directions to no weapons shops. I'm talkin' about the good stuff, the stuff you get on the streets. I don't got much money yet, but like I said, I got a few skills I can exchange.

An' speakin' o' them: I hear I got some roommates. Miss, uh, Galadriel and some guy named Guy? Well, I ain't gonna be in at all. Not for sleepin', anyway. So don't trouble yourself with that, when you don't see me come in.

[A deliberate pause. He exhales a lungful of smoke and watches it drift upwards before adding:]

Asano Rin. I got a bone to pick with you, and I think you know why.

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Well — alright.

[ He's quiet for a few seconds, considering. There's plenty of action and adventure stories to be had. A small handful of tragic ones — he'll be skipping those. But maybe something to lighten the mood is a little better.

The bar comes into sight, just as a good one occurs to him. He grins. ]

Alright, got it. So, to begin with, I should tell you that we healers usually stay back and let the warriors take on the many monsters of Rune-Midgard. But in the case of running into something undead, we're more effective than they are. A heal would do exactly what it sounds like to you, but to a ghoul, it rots their body. So, back when I was still an acolyte, I was taking advantage of that in the ruined city of Glast Heim. It's crawling with undead wraiths, druids, ghouls, things like that. If you're really careful—or stupid—you can take them on alone. Naturally, I decided I was ready for it.

[ He laughs. ]

I wasn't. I spent more time running than actually killing anything. But it meant I ran into a wayward knight, who had the idea that he could take on the creatures of Glast Heim too. I like to think my presence improved his chances a little, but neither of us were ready, really. I managed to keep both of us alive, but just barely. It's pretty safe to say our friendship began in a disaster.

[ His smile grows fond. ]

Mule Manning, his name was. And his peco— a bird that the knights raise and tame, to ride— I think he named her Jenny. He loved his peco more than any knight I'd ever met before or after. But when I say I think Jenny was smarter than Mule, that's not to say Jenny was any more clever than the usual peco.

Well, in any case, I kept in contact with my none-too-bright friend for a long time. We both got a little better at making it through the world without scraping past death quite so closely, and we helped each other out a lot. We were good friends. So good that he joked a few times that we should get married. I'd like to tell you I laughed it off, but knowing myself then, I probably just awkwardly changed the subject. But anyway, I even invited him to my ceremony— when I was finally ready to graduate from acolyte into priesthood, I mean. Now, Mule had somewhere along the line taken to calling me "Ash"— [ He says it with the short 'ah', as in Ashley. ] —Which was unusual, but I didn't mind. But when he saw me striding down the hall, proudly dressed in a priest's robes, instead of the androgynous outfit acolytes are given...

[ His story so far has taken them to a table in the back and gotten them drinks, and he pauses here to grin into his cup. ]

Poor Mule was heartbroken that I didn't graduate to priestess, like he'd expected.

[Despite himself, despite his earlier terror and poor mood, Jack finds himself grinning at the story's conclusion. He sips at his whiskey, relishing the stinging taste.]

Poor bastard. Though, uh, I dunno if it were the robes so much his mind-- I mean, no offense to him, but you ain't exactly girly.

Well, now I don't, and thanks for saying so— [ He rubs his be-stubbled chin, amused. ]

—But that wasn't always true. The first time I was young, I kept my hair long and shaved meticulously.

Your own fault, then. I used to take a knife to mine when it got past me ears.

[ He shrugs. ]

I have no defense. I thought it was — I don't know, proper, or something. I barely remember.

How long ago was it?

[ He pauses, considering, and taps a finger on the table. ]

Let's see... from when I first became a priest... fifty-six years ago.

How old are you?

Seventy-five.

Bullshit.

Nope. [ god he looks smug. ] But if it helps, I died and was reborn at fifty-five.

Nobody--

[--survives death. Except he just did, didn't he? Jack scowls.]

You gonna explain, or you gonna just sit there lookin' at me like that?

[ He considers that for a few seconds, then nods. ]

I could probably make a story out of that one, sure.

Not a story. The truth.

All of my stories are truths. [ A little of the levity drains away — though not all. Still, he manages to suddenly look a lot older than twenty. ] This one was fifty-five years in the making, and I don't think anyone has time to start from the beginning.

Then tell what you want. What you can.

[He notices Ashraf's sudden seriousness, but he's too intent now to pay it much mind. There's a sharpness in Jack's gaze that there wasn't before; he's desperate for this story, though he doesn't want to appear that way.]

[ He's quiet for a few seconds, just watching Jack. Finally he nods, gives a small smile, and begins. ]

I had a good life. I enjoyed it, anyway. I was married to a beautiful, upstanding woman, we had what little we wanted, and I was happy. But there comes a time in some lives when you realize you're not strong enough. Some lives, not all. Sometimes life equips you along the way, and gives you challenge enough to shape you into the man — or woman — you need to be. [ He pauses here, rubs the back of his neck. ] Not always, though.

That point came, for me. And for me, I decided the answer was risk. So I found my way to the door of Valhalla, with all the collected wisdom of the sage's guide. I spoke to the guardian Valkyrie, and offered myself to her, just as the legends say you can. They say that when a warrior is strong enough, and has met challenge enough in Rune-Midgard to prove himself worthy — if he offers his life up to the Valkyrie, she'll take it from him, and give him a new life of greater potential. But if she finds him lacking... [ He shrugs. He'd lied about this part to Sofiya — the current conversation wasn't quite fitting for the grimness he remembers. But here, he'll stick to the truth. As promised. ] No one's sure. I think she gives them death without the rebirth.

I was granted rebirth, though. I was returned as an infant to Rune-Midgard and raised in the Church. When it came time to graduate for a second time from an acolyte, I became a high priest, instead of simply a priest. [ He shrugs. ] And that's all, really. I still don't know if I'm strong enough, but I know I'm working for it. It's the only assurance you can really have.

[It's a fascinating story, but it's not the answer Jack was looking for. He sighs softly, disappointed, and nods.]

It's a hell o' a thin', bein' able to do that. What happened to your wife, then?

[ It's about the disappointment that he'd expected. He smiles softly, but glances away. ]

She's dead. I lost her to demons in the fields outside the City of the Dead.

'M sorry.

[He sits up a little, meeting his eyes.]

I, uh . . . she wasn't a wife, but. I understand the feelin'.

[ He glances back again, and the smile warms. ]

Then I'm sorry, too. I can say that the pain never quite goes away, but you do learn to live around it.

Yeah, I know.

[He shoots him a smile, awkward and uncertain, before gesturing for another drink (just coffee this time).]

You ever hear of anyone else doin' that? Dyin' and comin' back?

I can do it for others. There are a few restrictions, including how the target died and how long they've been dead, but there's that. And the Initiative's technology can revive Transports, as well.

[Maybe that's the answer. Maybe it's as simple as that-- that they chose him, they picked him up and revived him and brought him here.]

Nobody's . . . figured out why they pick who they pick, yeah? I mean, beyond who they think would be useful to fight.

It's not under their control. The way it's described, their machine reaches out and fixes on whatever it can grab.